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Published: February 28th 2010
Well hello again !
Colombo airport welcomed me with an ocean of fibs. My hotel had apparently sent several taxi drivers to meet me, which was strange as I hadn't booked a hotel.
I consulted my lonely planet to check prices for a three wheeler to Negombo, the nearest resort and somehow read a much lower figure,meaning I stood bargaining with a driver over 50 pence for half an hour. When i got to my hotel i realised i had demanded a much lower price than was the going rate and refused to budge. And so i continued to endear my self to the locals. I chose Negombo as everyone says Colombo is horrible and Negombo was much closer.
It was also a bit minging. I made an effort to tourist my self about, hired a bike and went off to see the fish market, apparently an attraction, got lost, cycled back about 10 minutes later and drank coffee, hoping nobody noticed. I'm sure it's a lovely fish market though. Hey maybe i could have even photographed some fish.
The hotel i asked to go to was twice the price as the guide book had informed me. Prices increase as the war stopped or something or other. I was looking at flights to Kabul when he said i could stay at his fathers for cheap cheap. His dad was an 87 year old kindly looking gent who stayed in Birmingham in his younger days to study. When I checked out at 12.10 pm he charged me a half day. 'Tell other tourists about me' he pleaded.' Will do Nazi.
Negombo also had a lot of 'beach boys' who harass you as you walk along the beach and are basically pretty low level con men. Necessary verbal slapping was administered and I left the beach without shedding a peso.
Not too impressed with Negombo I soldiered on Southwards. I hopped on a bus until I was told that hopping on a bus is viewed as a little bit odd and was thus threatened to skip and jump immediately or sit down.
I had to change at Colombo which looked like all the things I thought it would when i decided not to go, i.e noisy, dirty, humid, mental, ambiguous, a sprawling metropolis, a deceitful calf spraying the milk of lies from it's smooth hairless udders. I got right out of town in an impressive 15 minutes and I was on a train to Bentota. The train ride is very lovely, right next to the sea all the way. On the other side of the rail-track is the one road linking the capital to the South, which means that beaches can be a little noisy at places, which I would go as far to say is a bit of a shame. It has probably progressed from the route fisherman have used for hundreds of years, but it would be more thoughtful to move it back a bit so i can enjoy my ice cream in peace while sitting on my fat white arse.
I arrived in Bentota after a couple of hours and after going through the initial routine five minutes of thinking I got off at the wrong stop as incredulous locals sauntered past, I got in a three wheeler who took me to a completely different guest house to the one I asked for. This place was in the middle of nowhere and so my boredom would be compounded. As i informed the driver of the name of the place i wanted again, he said, 'no, never heard of this one...er., destroyed.. tsunami..' and the little women who owned it would say 'yes closed down, ' So as i am trying to remonstrate with the cock of a driver the women in shouting different prices at me and then saying 'too expensive?!' and shaking here head while i'm just ignoring her. She keeps repeating this charade lowering the price, throwing in breakfast, as i say that it's too quiet, no restaurants, so she says 'yes , tonight rice and curry.' So i gave in to the inevitable , the driver, her mate, got his commission and i was stuck in a jail garden eating rice and curry by myself, miles from anywhere, interrogated by some nosey al bint about every aspect of my life. The food was well over priced, of course, but it was my first experience with Sri Lankan food. The term 'rice and curry' doesn't do it justice or all the different little dishes and tastes that you get. It is indeed exquisite and my tastebuds exploded in joy like an adolescent cows first glimpse of a heifers thigh. I had a boat ride around the Bentota ganga, thinking that having made all that effort to get there I might as well do something. It wasn't too disappointing. Mr satan tuk tuk driver made a reappearance to whisk me away from Colditz to his mates boat. It was pretty cheap considering I was the lone tourist in the boat. Mr satan wouldn't leave me alone, demanding to know my plans so he can pick me up and drive me. I told him i didn't want hi too but he would laugh and say but you can't walk, and i would rather explore for my self and organise my transport or indeed walk than have some snidey bum-wad rip me off but he wasn't budging. ('bum-wad' wasn't i my Sri lankan dictionary. Oxford as well) The boat trip involved lots of birds and stuff. At one point a young guy drove over in his boat thing and gave me a tiny crocodile to hold. It was then demanded I got my camera out, causing incredulity when i told them i didn't have one.
Didn't really compute. Tourist? Yes 'Camera?' No. Hmm lets try this again. 'You with girlfriend?' No. 'You come alone?!' Yes. 'Ohh.hmm.' Looks confused/benevolent/ like I'm a total freakaloid. OK, Lets try again-' You have wife?' No. 'No wife? or camera!?' Arr. oh. hmm.'
That poor guy ended up accidentally drowning. There were lots of small baby crocs swimming round the lake too. Probably where the body went. I tried hiding from tuktuk devilman when back on land but he found me and bullied me/broke my spirit until I sat in his goatmobile and drove me away to the town. I managed to shake him off at this point (good day for the crocs) and was at last free in a dirty noisy town. I was looking at phones but not willing to pay a ton of silver, three quarters of England and a left arse cheek for a fake chinese walkie talkie with 'vodazone' written on it in orange crayon so gave up and headed back to Aushwitz for a splendid curry and various questions about how often i drink beer/ why i was heading next to Ambalangoda, what a support worker was and, of course, why I didn't have a wife. (your not going to Ambalangoda, no beach , tourist no go.' yes i am . shake of head. yeas i am. 'no, no beach. tourist no go' well i meet friend there. 'where?' AmbalanGODA!; 'whats his name?'. er.. Saneth. 'Well,(laughs) there are lots of Saneths in Sri Lanka, you won't find him.' Mmm, the crocodiles are getting bigger as you speak.Hat trick!
But it's not all been good murderous fun. Mostly though. I headed to Ambalangoda on the train to meet a local guy who (Auntie) Rosalie helped out after the Tsunami. I stayed at his house with his family for a night and got showed around his farm.(I started by banging the shack roof and asking to see material receipts.) Definitely a unique experience for a tourist and I very much enjoyed it. The election was imminent and i was informed by Saneth's friendly father the opposition was worse than Hitler. He showed me a small booklet with a Smiling president on the front and inside were pictures of the General who was running for president alongside pictures of Idi Amin and Adolf himself. It was all written in Sri Lankan of course but I got the general drift i.e. Mahinda good, everyone else evil*.
*probably.
I headed onwards down the coast to Hikkaduwa. My tuk tuk driver said the guesthouse I asked for might be cheap but was like a hospital (doesn't pay commission to him)so I said great I need medical attention(clinical laziness.) He wasn't impressed and asked if I was from Israel. My room was a bit minging but cheaper than chips (even Aldi ones). Hikkaduwa was nice but very touristy and had the big insane road running right through it.Very popular with surfers, some of whom had very slappable faces and used the word 'party' as a verb before going 'wooo' in a high pitch. So i left after a couple of nights then moved on to Galle. This was the day before the election and all the buses were packed like srdiNes in a Crshd tiIn bo-x and wouldn't let me on with my big bag and guitar so i gad to get a three wheeler there. Apparently everyone needs to be at home to vote. So that's interesting isn't it
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Mrs Page
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Brilliant Piece of Writing
Well I have never read anything so wonderful before: such poetry, wit and wisdom. You should make a career out of travel writing. What time will you be home for tea?